


A Civil Campaign

by clutzycricket



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Female-Centric, comedy of manners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a victorious Rhaegar Targaryen brought Lyanna Stark to the Red Keep, his dreams of a comfortable life with two wives by his side was ruined when Lady Rambton greeted him frostily to lead him to the Queen's suites.</p><p>Sixteen years later, there is still a subtle war between the two Queens and their parties, and the children are determined to set it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Civil Campaign

When he returned victorious from his war, Rhaegar Targaryen failed to take a great many things into account.

He had failed to take into account how disgruntled many souls would be over his handling of the affair- it had been in haste, he admitted, but his cousin was a hasty man, and had been pressing to speed the wedding.

He had failed to take into account that Lyanna might give him a son, and damage herself so deeply that she could never carry a child again.

He had failed to take into account how divided the court could be, when not terrified by wildfire, and that if would divide itself between his queens and their sons.

He had also, when returning to the Red Keep, failed to take the redoubtable Lady Rambton into consideration.

“Your Grace,” Maia Rambton said, eyes flinty. She guarded the hall with the rigid posture of a knight, red and white gown striking against the shadows and her ever present moonstone collar around her throat. “The Queen is with your children. She wished to present you with the changes that you have wrought.”

“Queen Lyanna is to be given rooms as well,” Rhaegar said, thinking rapidly. Lady Rambton had been the idea of his mother and Lady… Appleton, who left the Court to have her son and never returned. Primarily Lady Appleton, who he remembered as a nasty and bitter woman, he suspected, though his mother might have agreed for different reasons than the Reacher Lady. The sister of the current Lady Sunglass and wife of his primary sworn house, she was also deeply pious and meant to keep a Dornishwoman polite and proper. Instead, she had a bone-deep loyalty to Elia, lived to discomfort Rhaegar as politely as possible, and there was no true rebuke he could come up with. “The rooms that were last used for my Great-Aunt Daella? And we have a wet nurse brought for the prince already…”

Lady Rambton’s nose flared, and Rhaegar, much to his surprise, was led to the Queen’s apartments, which were last his mother’s. They had been decorated with red in varying shades, bronzes, and a small circle of ladies around a very young boy who could not be two, who must be his son, and his daughter, who watched him with wary eyes.

Ser Jaime, Ser Oswell, and Ser Lewyn, whose battle wounds had faded into scars, were watching him just as warily.

“Papa,” his little girl said, very carefully and with a small prompting by her mother, “May I introduce Lady Cersei, Ser Jaime’s sister, Lady Mina Tyrell, Lady Alysanne Hightower, and Lady Ravella Smallwood. They are Mama’s ladies. May I have ladies?” The last was clearly not rehearsed, judging by the amused look on the women’s faces.

“We’ll see,” he said, looking at them all.

Not even the realization of what, exactly, his father had done had set a shiver down his spine so.

“May I speak with my wife?” he asked, and watched as the ladies slowly left.

Ser Jaime stayed, smiling a wicked grin. “Someone has to stay and act as a guard.” Rhaegar realized that he didn’t quite know what Jaime would be guarding against.

“I can do that,” Ser Oswell said, looking cautiously at Ser Jaime. Ser Jaime has been Arthur’s special protegee, after all, and Arthur was the deadliest knight in the kingdom.

Not the kindest. Or, perhaps, the most sensible. But a hunter, through and through.

“Ah, no, I insist,” Jaime said lazily. “Though I am never listened to, and we all saw how that ended.”

Elia muffled a snicker as her ladies left. “Terribly true. Ser Jaime must stay, and Rhaenys as well. She sulks dreadfully without him.”

“Ser Lewyn, please confer with the Lord Commander,” Rhaegar said, gritting his teeth. “Ser Oswell, go to Queen Lyanna…”

Elia’s great dark eyes narrowed, her sharp chin went up, and he realized just how badly he had misstepped.

~

There were two parties in Court, nowadays. One was the party of Queen Elia, who was known as gracious and wise when you did not cross her, and clever and cutting when you did. Her only frailty was her illness, and Lady Rambton and her underladies guarded her like dragons when that occurred. The second was the party of Queen Lyanna, who had won the King’s love and championed causes with blazing light and ferocity that you almost forgot the war sparked in her name.

And it grew obvious, over the years, that there would be no more princes or princesses. The King’s orphaned younger siblings lived quietly, for the most part, watched warily by a Spider. Queen Elia had her two children, and Queen Lyanna a son.

Some lords whispered of another rebellion, but, they told themselves, at least their king was still young and seemed to have recovered from his temporary madness.

The Targaryen children, despite this, found it deeply amusing, looked at Jon, listened to the rumors, and tried to imagine Jon as King.

Dany laughed herself off a bench, only saved by Viserys and Ysilla Royce, who were mooning over each other that month.

“Sweet sister, while I trust Jon,” Viserys said, worrying a too-long lock of silver-blonde hair, “I do not trust any ambitious girl or her family who wants to rule through him.”

“I wouldn’t!” Jon said.

“Liane Vance,” Rhaenys drawled. “She tried to make it look like you were crawling up her skirts.” Rhaenys had lost her temper spectacularly at the girl, but Lady Cersei had planted her own subtle poison that tarnished the girl. On the whole, she did not enjoy Lady Cersei’s company, but the woman had her uses, and in small doses she could be entertaining compared to endless rounds of flattery.

“Margaery Tyrell?” Shyra Errol said dryly. The young lady of Haystack Hall was one of Rhaenys’ dearest companions, second only to the recently-married Allyria Dayne, and one of the most powerful nobles in her own right.

“Of course not!” he said.

“We’ll make up a list of dangerous ladies later,” Aegon said, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Though as the eldest, I think our dear Uncle has his own idea about dangerous women…”

Normally, Rhaenys thought wryly, some weeks later, the Reacher lords could not be trusted to support her half-Dornish brother. After all, many had been of… dubious loyalty during the Blackfyre Rebellions. But Lord Hightower’s first wife, gods bless her, had been a Vaith, and his daughter Alerie was Lord Tyrell’s wife. Besides that, Lord Tyrell’s heir was a most satisfactory correspondant.

At nine and ten, it was also very expected that she be wed. There were four bargaining chips for Rhaegar Targaryen to work with, and then when the divisions in the Court were factored in…

When Lyanna had been overheard mentioning Margaery Tyrell’s interest in Jon, and one of her ladies had mentioned the might of the Reach, Rhaenys had pinched her nose and went to speak with her father about her writing with Lord Willas. After expressing bemusement that she had a suitor her tongue hadn’t chased away, he agreed to give her wedding plans precedence.

Lord Willas’ amusement fairly dripped from the letter as he thanked her for keeping his sister from the middle of a war, especially given her previous statements about her brother’s nature and intentions. He suspected his father would be more than content with a princess as future lady of Highgarden.

Queen Lyanna sulked magnificently when the betrothal was announced. Her mother had smiled faintly into her dinner, and Lady Margaery had thankfully been warned beforehand.

She had taken it philosophically, mostly because she was young enough to find it terribly romantic. Besides that, she idolized her eldest brother, and if her chances of being Princess were dimmed, her brother had beaten the vicious rumors and made a magnificent match.

Margaery had also, she admitted, appreciated it that Rhaenys had thought to warn her privately. “Besides,” the girl admitted. “The vipers at court who are angling for war… I know my brother Loras speaks of it as something glorious, but it seems like the older knights have a different tale to tell.”

Rhaenys had to agree with that.

The next day, she was informed that, as Allyria was to wed Beric Dondarrion, Lyanna’s elder niece would be joining her ladies.

Jon frowned when he heard. “This is getting absurd, and Rhaenys, if you enter this war…”

“I intend on finishing it,” Rhaenys informed her brother. They had gone riding with her Ser Uncle, Jon’s friend Rollam Westerling, and Lady Shyra, who was currently undergoing her own woes. Despite being the ruling lady of one of the great houses of the Stormlands, her cousin Sebastian was a renowned warrior, and very unhappy that he was not ruling Haystack Hall.

If it was not for Lyanna so publicly snubbing their lord, Rhaenys would match Jon and Shyra and watch Ser Sebastian howl for all the angry gossip he and Ronnet Connington had stirred over a council of light skirts, but it was not for her to decide.

Also, Shyra would devour Jon.

Papa had shamelessly stolen Ser Arys for his Kingsguard, but he hadn’t the wits to be of use for Shyra, anyway. Uncle Doran had grumpily informed her that Quentyn was being used to pacify the Yronwoods, and if she asked Lord Tywin poor Shyra would be dealt the Imp.

(Truly, she enjoyed his siblings’ company. The bulk of her aversion, she suspected, was after all of Jaime’s stories of his clever brother, being subjected to a very drunk, very self pitying man who had commented on her breasts. Insulted, truly. At fourteen, the insult had stung, and the aversion never went away.)

“Do you truly think you can finish this war, and secure Shyra’s hold on Haystack Hall?” Jon asked doubtfully.

“I have no doubt I can do it by my wedding,” she said, twirling her hair. “My only question is how terribly wild your cousin Sansa is like to be.”

He gave her a pained look. “Can you try to be neutral, for my sake?”

“I try, brother dear, but your mother seems to think herself Alicent Hightower reborn. Or possibly Daena the Defiant,” she added, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

She deserved the near-ducking in the stream she got for that, she admitted, but she was terribly frustrated.

~

Sansa Stark had sailed in from White Harbor, too fast for her invitation to Court to have come when Rhaenys first knew.

Which meant, she thought grimly, that Lyanna had sent the raven before all of this. Mother had realized it as well- her face took on the slightly drawn quality that meant she was tired of dealing with Lyanna’s petty slights, and they needed to solve this issue quickly.

Possibly before Mother broke her resolve and asked Uncle to poison her.

The girl was accompanied by her twin brother, both of whom were roughly Jon’s age, both a tousle of Tully-red curls and guileless blue eyes.

Margaery, watching the siblings enter, smiled serenely. “Robb Stark is quite handsome,” she mused. “And a high lord’s heir…”

Rhaenys bit her lip to hide her smile. “And from the North, where it snows in high summer, so you couldn’t wear your pretty gowns.”

“Lady Sansa manages well enough,” Margaery mused. “And I could make due with some embroidery… it would be a fun game, at least.”

“They say Lady Stark is given great respect by her husband,” Shyra added. “How is your husband hunt for me going?”

“Lucas Blackwood?” Rhaenys offered.

“I met him at a small tourney for Garlan’s wedding,” Margaery said, thoughtfully. “He was quite lovely, and he held himself wonderfully at the melee. Is he coming to King’s Landing?”

Rhaenys nodded.

“Oh, perfect,” Margaery said, and Rhaenys went to settle in her newest lady.

~

Oh, by the Seven and Mother Rhoyne and any other deities…

She had, perhaps, been expecting a miniature Lyanna. What she had received was a shy, naive girl who was terribly eager to please and clever, though not encouraged to spread her wings in the ways of King’s Landing society.

I shall marry Willas and send Sansa to foster in Sunspear, she thought crossly. Preferably warning Arianne that the girl is in fact as innocent as she appears, and Lyanna did her a great disservice sending her here merely to spite me.

Or spy on me.

“My dresses are quite different from what everyone else is wearing,” Lady Sansa said, before blushing at biting her lip.

“They suit you, though,” Rhaenys said, casting an eye on the garment. “Lady Margaery even complimented them, and it takes quite a bit for her to do so. She said that it is the embroidery, and the contrast of colors.”

“Oh, did she?” Sansa looked pleased. “Your gown looks very lovely, as well.”

“My sister’s gowns are the subject of much fussing,” Aegon said, swooping in from behind a hedge. He had a branch in his hair and a tear on his dirty tunic. “Darling sister, Lady Sansa, have you seen Prince Viserys? We were having a slight… disagreement, and he seemed determined to end it suddenly.”

Sansa blushed as red as a pomegranate. “I believe I saw him heading for the city,” she offered. “He said he wanted to speak to Lord Connington’s cousin.”

“Ah, that will end well,” Aegon shook his hair out, then bowed. “My lady, welcome to King’s Landing. I only hope your first public event isn’t a funeral.”

“Ronnet Connington wouldn’t dare kill Uncle,” Rhaenys snapped. “Even if he and some of the other reactionaries are so upset about the Dornish influence at court.”

“Not to mention the female influence, which I always felt silly,” Aegon said to Sansa, who was studying him curiously. Rhaenys had the feeling that when the girl was shaken out of what she was taught to expect, she had a good talent for observing things. “We have had far fewer dangerously mad female Targaryens than male ones.” He grinned. “Not to mention the fact that most of the ladies of the Keep are better suited for diplomacy- have you met Lord Tarly yet?”

Sansa giggled. “Oh, he truly cannot be that bad if he was placed as Master of Laws.”

Aegon sighed. “Ah, but if only he was appointed for his fairness. Instead he was appointed to help counterbalance the Reacher lords being so very unhappy with the Dornish Queen and her heir, especially as I have very carefully refused to wed Margaery Tyrell.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “You mean the two of you get along like a scorpion and a toad,” she said, widening her eyes comically. “Meanwhile, I and Lord Willas have written letters to each other for years and found much in common, so that should sort out many of our remaining issues.” She smoothed her skirts. “Besides,” she said, to Lady Sansa, testing the waters, “I think Lady Margaery had quite set her cloak on your brother.”

“Do you really think so?” Sansa looked thrilled. “Robb was tongue-tied by her as well. Though Mother always said the North was quite an adjustment, so if she would would truly like that, she would need to consider that…”

“Do you consider the South an adjustment?” Aegon asked, curiously.

Sansa considered the question. “It is in some ways- though I wonder if that is because it is so very full of people, or because I spent all my life in Winterfell..”

~

Shyra was staring at the two figures on the bench. “Is your brother still speaking with the Stark girl?”

“I quite like her, actually,” Rhaenys said, a slow smile forming. “She is quite clever, genuinely interested in people, and willing to learn. She adores Mother, as well, and finds her to be a good and gracious lady- she went to the orphanage with us yesterday.”

“You did say I should get to know my prospective husband,” Shyra said, miserably. “I didn’t think I would miss that much.”

“And how did that go?” She had liked Lucas Blackwood, one of Jon’s friends, the second son of Raventree Hall. They were distant cousins, as well, and the canny, loyal boy had grown into a good man.

“Promising- I shan’t wed him yet, but I’ll announce the betrothal if my cousin forces my hand,” Shyra sighed. “‘Tis a pity we haven’t found anything that would force him to take the Black. One of the good causes the Northern Queen has taken up is sending more men to the Wall.”

Rhaenys frowned, noticing a lean figure with a cane, dressed in a simple green riding cloak, walking into the hall. “Do you know who that is?”

Uncle Oberyn followed behind, without Aunt Ellaria, and Rhaenys sighed. She so wanted her Uncle’s paramour, one of the calmest, most reasonable women she had ever met, to be at her wedding. Mother would be tired enough without dealing with Uncle Oberyn sniping at Lyanna.

And she should take up more of her wedding duties herself, perhaps- she had been trying to tie up so much before her wedding that she had left too much on her Mother’s shoulders. It was amazing that Lady Rambton had not dragged her off by her hair yet.

“Niece!” Uncle Oberyn called. “I have brought your betrothed to you, hale and safe from irritated horses!”

“One horse,” Lord Willas- and that was who it must be, he had the same warm eyes as Margaery- said, looking aggrieved. “And I was not in need of rescue, thank you.”

Shyra started laughing under her breath, muttering about not recognizing one’s fiance when they know their opinion on nearly everything else, when Rhaenys stood, smiling.

“I am well aware of my uncle’s penchant for amateur theatricals,” she said, “but I am very happy to see you arrive.” She looked between them, a bit curiously.

“I wished to surprise my sister, and your lovelorn swain wished to catch a glimpse of one of the most beautiful women in the Kingdoms,” Uncle said. Whatever had happened to Lord Willas, it must have been truly embarrassing for him to still be laughing. “The rest of our parties shall be following in the usual slow marching pace.”

And there was nothing she could say to that.

~

Aegon had a terrible habit of barging in whenever it suited him. “Rhaenys, sweet sister, I have a plan that will heal whatever rift there is with the Northern contingent,” he said.

Uncle Oberyn, who had been telling her about what had proven to be a truly embarrassing story about Willas, his horse, and a flowering tree, looked up. “What is your plan?”

“Sansa Stark!” Aegon said, collapsing in a chair. “You can ask Mother about her, Uncle- I could arrange a betrothal with her. Her brother is heir to Winterfell, and Margaery is going to wed the sorry lad, no doubt. Her mother’s family are Lords Paramount to the Riverlands-”

“A situation that is going to need to be lanced, with regards to the Freys,” Rhaenys said lightly. “They have blood ties to most of the minor houses, and there could be civil war there within a decade.”

“I am trying to get Father to think about that. Unfortunately he is being his normal self, but Sansa might be useful with that,” he said. “She could charm the moon down from the sky. And Lyanna will agree with her because she will be ecstatic about a Northern Queen, ignoring the fact that they have so little in common.”

Rhaenys crossed her arms. “And the fact that she is already pretty as a portrait has nothing to do with it, brother dear?”

“Ah, that is a boon,” he said. “Her ability to cope with my inability to remain serious is more important.”

Oberyn held up a hand. “Do you both think this is a good idea?”

“Yes,” Aegon said, firmly.

“I can’t think of a better option, and I do like Sansa,” Rhaenys answered carefully.

“Will the wolf bitch howl with rage when she realizes that you have beaten her thoroughly?” he said, smiling sharply.

“I don’t actually know if…” Aegon frowned. “Well, I suppose out of sheer momentum and anger at the various duels of King’s Landing.”

“Yes, she will,” Rhaenys sighed.

~

Somehow, Rhaenys actually managed to have a peaceful wedding, even if Queen Lyanna nearly didn’t arrive- Jon had quietly reminded her that even though she might feel awkward, it would seem bad.

Shyra and Lucas Blackwood were sitting together, with Lucas’ brothers keeping Shyra’s cousin away from them. Aegon was squiring Lady Sansa, having brought his proposal for a betrothal to Father and getting a bemused yes. Robb Stark was sitting with Margaery, and Allyria with her Lord Beric, an unofficial peace between the Red Mountains.

She predicted a week before the next disaster.


End file.
